


The Christmas Prodigy

by allthebeautifulthings9828



Series: The Prodigy [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel Comforts Dean, Castiel Loves Dean, Castiel in the Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester Feels, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Christmas, Christmas Music, Comfort, Comforting Dean, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Dean Feels, Dean Loves Castiel, Dean Needs A Hug, Dean Needs Castiel, Dean Needs Love, Dean Plays The Piano, Dean Realizes His Feelings For Castiel, Dean Winchester Feels, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Dean and Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, Feels, First Kiss, Hey Jude, Inspired by Music, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters Bunker, Music, Musician Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Piano, Post-Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, References to the Beatles, Romance, Secret Relationship, Snow, Snowed In, Surprise Kissing, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebeautifulthings9828/pseuds/allthebeautifulthings9828
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has long known Dean's secret talent for playing the piano, learned as a teenager in the boys' home, so it was no surprise that Dean hid himself away in the bunker to play after the Mark of Cain seized control of him again. Guilt plagued Dean as he sat at his piano but Castiel pushing him to think of his mother changed him. Together, they played songs Mary loved, which taught Dean to love Christmas again and made him feel close enough to Castiel to finally make his feelings known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Prodigy

Dean counted it as a miracle that his piano survived the destruction and evil of being a demon. A vague, darkened memory threaded between his thoughts, however, that recalled touching a piano as that monster. A few notes emerged from his fingertips grazing the keys as if his soul being suffocated by the blackness had clawed for any sense of humanity and brought out those notes so intrinsically linked to his mother.

The rare moment of privacy afforded by Sam taking Claire Novak a Christmas care package let Dean descend low into the bowels of the bunker where he kept his treasure. Sam had developed a soft spot for the Novak girl or maybe he just liked the idea of a younger sibling that didn't want to see him dead like Adam had. It wasn't that Dean disliked Claire or anything, but he knew he wasn't fit to be around people. He was dangerous. He was a risk. So he sent Sam out alone with snacks and odds and ends bought from a Gas 'n Sip, which was a bit of a Winchester tradition at Christmas. Locking himself in the bunker was safer for everyone.

Security monitors near the utility room showed a good, steady bout of Kansas snow falling outside, making the hillside and woods look like a white glitter bomb exploded. He used to like snow. Even as a grown man on the trail of some monster or ghost, he stopped and beaned his brother on the head with a snowball, which escalated into a fight that allowed them to forget the dark turns their lives took. The raised red scar on Dean's inner forearm wouldn't let him forget anymore, not even for a good snowball fight. Knights of Hell didn't deserve to play. They didn't deserve to forget.

Keeping the piano deep in the bunker's basement was for the best. He couldn't see the snow and the walls weren't draped in Castiel's obnoxious silver metallic garland. It was the only home they each had, he'd said, and living in humanity meant enjoying holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas.

He pulled the bench out enough to sit on it, but he didn't open the lid over the piano keys right away. With his arm leaning on the piano, he caught a glimpse of the scar peeking through his rolled shirt sleeve. It looked menacing to him. He tugged his sleeve up more and dragged his fingertips over the scar's raised edges. It controlled his thoughts and impulses, bleeding blackness into his brain and heart no matter how he fought it. Drinking usually numbed whatever he felt, but booze only gave the Mark of Cain more power to make him do disgusting things. He watched himself do much of it even before it happened too. At first the visions felt like nothing more than nightmares, the same sort of nightmares he'd endured for his whole life, but then nightmares became reality. He was having precognitive visions. Once upon a time, Sam had visions like that as well, except he wasn't the one spilling blood.

Leaning over the piano, a fist supporting his head, Dean flipped open the lid and unveiled the keys. A shudder of fear gripped his heart. If he allowed himself to play, would he taint the one thing he kept for himself? Hesitant fingertips touched the first key, and then the next key. His humanity scratched for freedom again, though technically, he was kind of human at the moment.

"You're missing your mother."

Dean whirled around and found Castiel quiet and respectful as he came into the room.

"How'd you know where I was?" Dean asked.

"I feel you," he said simply, and then jerked his chin at the piano. "That was the first chord of Hey Jude."

The hunter turned back to his piano, silenced by the angelic audience. "You studied up on music, huh?"

Footsteps shuffled nearer without a word. Suddenly an iPhone appeared in front of Dean's face and his eyes focused on an impressive list of Beatles albums. He couldn't help the smile bleeding over his face in that moment. Despite frequent separations, Castiel still thought about him and listened to the very human things he said. Castiel stowed the phone in his pocket again. His hands fell across Dean's shoulders and, going against his better judgment to stay away from those he loved, he reached back to squeeze Castiel's hand in return.

"You're missing your mother," said Castiel once more.

"Yeah," Dean admitted quietly.

The angel gave a subtle sigh. "Let me hear you play the song."

"Cas--"

"--It'll help you feel her presence," he said.

Part of Dean dug in his heels and refused to do anything to attract his mother's attention from Heaven. If she saw what he did to his life, the people he hurt, the blood he spilled--well, Dean couldn't begin to comprehend that kind of disappointment in her eyes. Losing his mother at such a tender age created an ethereal memory of her distorted through the lens of time. Mary Winchester became the stereotypical kind of angel that Dean imagined before he ever knew Castiel or the others. She was everything beautiful and pure, while he descended deeper into Hell by the year.

Castiel seemed to recognize his hesitation. He tipped forward until Dean felt his body heat over his shoulder and dark stubble grazing his temple. Long fingers stretched along the tops of his hands, guiding him to the first position of a song. A stuttered note croaked out between the two of them, and then another. The song took shape like an unsteady sculpture until it took on something recognizable and pleasing to the ear. Castiel's fingers pressed his here and there as they played, one seamlessly with the other, and Dean couldn't hear where one ended and the other began. The angel knew the song as thoroughly as the hunter did, or maybe he knew Dean's inner thoughts and nuances enough to predict his movements.

Though Dean did his utmost to conceal it, playing those notes got to him. Mom's voice echoed distantly in his memory, singing the first verse. In a moment, the low murmur of his own voice joined her.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad  
Take a sad song and make it better  
Remember to let her into your heart  
Then you can start to make it better_

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid  
You were made to go out and get her  
The minute you let her under your skin  
Then you begin to make it better_

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain  
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders  
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
By making his world a little colder_

The words got to him. Words melted into piano notes, fading away, and his eyes fell closed instead. Though he couldn't allow himself to think too hard about his mother, he did allow himself the comfort of Castiel's warmth around his shoulders. They'd never spoken of subtle changes in their intimacy. It was truly unspoken and natural. Part of him wondered if defining what they were to each other would burst the bubble. Everything good in his life, aside from Sam, were right there at his fingertips.

As the song drew nearer to its last notes, Dean surprised himself with his unwillingness to let the moment end. He let silence fill the gap as Castiel settled on the bench beside him, back turned to the keys but intently studying Dean's profile. Dean didn't have to lift his eyes or acknowledge the way his guardian angel stared without the least hint of self-consciousness. It took years to get accustomed to the way Castiel's presence invaded his personal space, but in recent times, he came to crave that kind of intimate comfort. At least Castiel was strong enough to withstand anything the Mark of Cain made him do, not that he wanted the angel to witness it.

"Why didn't you take me out?" Dean asked abruptly, though much quieter than he anticipated of himself. "I told you to kill me before the mark took me over and I killed more people."

"This is why," replied Castiel.

"What?"

"This." He gestured to Dean's fingers tinkling across the keys in a nonsensical path. "I still see you in there. As long as you're Dean to me, I won't raise a hand to you." Blue eyes drifted to an unspecific spot on the horizon. "The truth is, I don't think I could ever fulfill that promise. I care for you too much."

Dean looked up from the piano, though he still played with it. "About me or for me?"

"For you." He turned his face then and blue eyes seemed closer than ever.

It felt different, the moment hanging in the air. Maybe it was his acute sense of loneliness, Dean wondered as he chewed his lower lip, or maybe it was the open question floating disguised among the snowflakes outside. He tilted closer and snapped up Castiel's lips in an uncertain kiss marked by a statement rather than a question or shy tenderness. The Mark of Cain itched on his arm and burned the longer they kissed as if touching an angel or feeling something akin to love made the mark angry. But when he let go, nuzzling Castiel's nose for a moment and letting the angel nuzzle back, he ignored the burn. Maybe the goodness they inspired in each other was the real miracle.

Just a bit lightheaded, Dean smirked. Kissing Castiel was the best kind of drunken happiness. "So," he said, "wanna hear my mom's favorite Christmas song?"

"I thought you banned the word Christmas in your presence," Castiel replied through a soft smile.

"I did not."

"Yes, you did. It was upstairs in the kitchen two days ago when Sam--"

Another biting kiss silenced that detailed account. "Shut up and sing with me, Cas."

"I'm not a good singer," protested Castiel.

Dean ignored him, resettling on the piano bench. "I haven't played this in years. It's gonna suck," Dean warned. He laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles for a proper song played the right way. The notes came out slow and melodic, which sounded like most of the songs his mother played when he was a little boy.

It took a few sour keys but Dean remembered the tune.

_What Child is this who, laid to rest  
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?  
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,  
While shepherds watch are keeping?  
This, this is Christ the King,  
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing;  
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,  
The Babe, the Son of Mary._

Castiel watched him with a little smile playing his lips. He waited for the second verse to join Dean's singing. The deep gravelly tone of his voice remained even with Dean's, never overpowering him or letting him sing it alone.

Despite the Mark of Cain fighting him at every turn, Dean let a little light into the bunker with his mother's memory. They had that day together, that moment, and no matter what the blackness smothering his soul made him do tomorrow or the days and weeks after, he resolved to keep that memory to ground him in his humanity. It helped that Castiel made no comments about their stolen kisses. He knew better than to press Dean into expressing more than he dared, which strangely allowed Dean to open his inner self more.

The younger Winchester brother hardly knew what to think when he came back. Sam followed the most foreign sounds of music and laughter through the bunker until stumbling onto Dean and Castiel performing a duet of a rather filthy version of Jingle Bells.

Now Sam knew his brother's secret too. He was a pianist. And Dean was okay with him knowing about it then, twisting back on his bench with a wide grin.

"Hey, Sammy! C'mon in," he shouted over the piano.


End file.
